


Azure Turns to Gold

by amillionmistakes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Wolves, F/M, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 15:24:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17880323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amillionmistakes/pseuds/amillionmistakes
Summary: Harry’s been awake for a while now.  Long enough to see dawn bleed across the night sky and over the stone floor of Niall’s chamber.He’s tempting fate by staying any longer.  Once, back when it wasn’t commonplace for Harry to find himself waking naked next to the Crown Prince, he slept until fingers of sunlight started to creep up the bedposts.  By the time he had extricated himself from the sheets, thrown on the previous day’s uniform, and spent seven whole minutes locating his sword and scabbard, the entire room was bathed in daylight.Benjamin had decided to make an example of his lateness.  He’d been a few months short of twenty-one, had barely earned the mud on his boots, and he’d had his ass handed to him in front of the entirety of the King’s Guard.  He still has a wicked scar along the fourth rib on his right side from the Commander’s silver-lined blade.Now, at twenty-four—much more practiced with both time management and sparring—Harry presses his hand to his side.  The old wound always smarts in the mornings.A glance over his shoulder shows sunlight has only gotten as far as the Prince’s writing desk; he still has a few more minutes before he has to disappear.





	Azure Turns to Gold

Harry’s been awake for a while now.  Long enough to see dawn bleed across the night sky and over the stone floor of Niall’s chamber.

He’s tempting fate by staying any longer.  Once, back when it _wasn’t_ commonplace for Harry to find himself waking naked next to the Crown Prince, he slept until fingers of sunlight started to creep up the bedposts.  By the time he had extricated himself from the sheets, thrown on the previous day’s uniform, and spent seven whole minutes locating his sword and scabbard, the entire room was bathed in daylight. 

Benjamin had decided to make an example of his lateness.  He’d been a few months short of twenty-one, had barely earned the mud on his boots, and he’d had his ass handed to him in front of the entirety of the King’s Guard.  He still has a wicked scar along the fourth rib on his right side from the Commander’s silver-lined blade.  

Now, at twenty-four—much more practiced with both time management and sparring—Harry presses his hand to his side.  The old wound always smarts in the mornings.

A glance over his shoulder shows sunlight has only gotten as far as the Prince’s writing desk; he still has a few more minutes before he has to disappear. 

Niall is fucking gorgeous, sleeping with his back toward him, swathed in gold silk from the waist down.  The freckled skin of his back reminds Harry of toasted coconut, but he knows if he were to slip his hand along his hipbone, he’d touch nothing but creamy white.  Niall’s always been fond of training in just his breeches, has always run a bit hot, even when they were pups. 

His time is almost up, and he gives himself a mental pat on the back for his restraint.  He’s been dying to touch Niall ever since he opened his eyes.  He slides across the sea of silk and soft  down between them and presses chest to toe into all that warmth, laying featherlight kisses along Niall’s shoulder, steadfastly ignoring the gentle throbbing of his cock pressed against his stomach, when the man lets out a groan. 

Harry can’t help the smile that takes over his face.  He relaxes enough to let his fangs out, grazing the points against the knob of the Prince’s spine. 

“Mornin’.”

Niall’s voice is a rasp, still clogged with sleep and raw from the night’s activities.

Harry doesn’t reply right away, just drags his hand down Niall’s belly, blunt nails scratching in the soft hair below his bellybutton, tongue flicking out over the sensitive skin where his neck and shoulder meet.  It’s customarily where bond marks are placed.  If Harry had a gold coin for every time that he’d thought about sinking his fangs into the flesh there, he could buy himself a title.  And well, the rest doesn’t really matter in the end.  He certainly hasn’t seen a schilling from any of the times his mind has wandered during lessons before joining the Guard, or during a sparring match, Niall’s shoulders glistening and chest heaving, or at night in his bunk, cock fisted in his hand, imagination running wild. 

 _Only_ in his imagination. 

For one, only Alphas can initiate a mating bite, and Harry is no Alpha.  He’s not anything, where that’s concerned.  

Well, he _is_ , but he won’t ever find out about it.  Boys pledged to the Guard are started on suppressants on their eleventh birthday, before their bodies are given the opportunity to present.  Harry hasn’t ever felt the loss of his secondary sex.  He’s actually thankful he hasn’t had to deal with it.  He can’t imagine popping a knot in the middle of a raid or—God forbid—going into heat.  But, he supposes, that’s why the suppressant business started in the first place.  Sometimes, when he’s still wired from the day, buzzed off of adrenaline, he’ll lie in the barracks and debate on how he’d have presented, if given the chance.  Both his mum and dad were Betas, so logic tells him the apple wouldn’t fall far from the tree, even though his older sister, Gemma, is an Omega.  It’s times like this, however—fangs aching, mouth watering at the thought of Niall’s blood on his tongue—that he fancies he’s probably an Alpha.  The notion always raises the hair on the back of his neck.

Even if he _was_ a presented Alpha, it wouldn’t matter anyway.  Because, well.

 _Niall_ is an Alpha.

And royalty, plain and simple.

“Good morning,” Harry rumbles back, dragging his tongue up Niall’s neck, swirling the tip behind his right ear and catching the lobe between his teeth. 

Niall responds with a purr, arching his back so that his arse presses back into Harry’s pelvis, and he can’t keep his hips from rocking forward, cock already wet at the tip, snubbing up against Niall’s hole.  Harry buries his whimper in Niall’s shoulder.

“Can’t-“ he chokes out, hips undulating despite his words, “Gonna be late.”

Harry’s eyes clench shut as Niall slips a hand back between the brunette’s legs, rolling his sack in his palm before dragging his hand up his straining cock, root to tip,

“Can make it quick.”

And Harry is so so weak, slips a finger down the cleft of Niall’s arse to test his hole, still swollen but pliable from the night before.   Works in two digits with so little resistance that it makes his head spin and Niall hitch up a knee to allow him better access.   Harry squeezes a third finger in as a formality, curling the tips so that Niall keens, and Harry can see his bicep tighten, knows Niall’s pumping his cock, trying to make good on his promise to ‘make it quick.’

Harry fists his own, smearing pre-cum down his shaft, then butting the head against Niall’s entrance, sliding in with a jolt of his hips.  The slide is rough, a bit drier than they’re used to.  Niall bears down hard at the intrusion, and Harry sees stars, nearly blacks out between the clench and the friction and the sound Niall makes as he bottoms out.  He holds his hips fast, already overwhelmed and struggling to draw breath into his lungs.

“Fucking _move_ ,”  Niall grits out, and Harry exhales, hooking his chin over Niall’s shoulder to glimpse him pulling himself off at an excruciating pace, cock purple-red and leaking all over his fist.

And that’s it, really.

He rabbits his hips four, five times, bullocks swollen and pulled tight, nose pressed to the scent gland in Niall’s neck, and the dam bursts, fire cracking over his skin as he empties himself into Niall, feels like it starts all over again when Niall comes with a muffled shout, tightening around him like a vise when he’s just short of too sensitive.

The room descends into silence.  Harry’s world narrows to a series of breaths and a swath of heat at his back.  Sunlight.

“Fuck.”

His hands brace against Niall’s hips, pulling out fast enough to pull a hypersensitive whine from the Prince’s throat.

“What are you doing?”

“So fucking late,” Harry mutters, pulling his tunic over his head, the golden stitching glinting in the growing light from the window.  He looks up to see Niall resting on his elbows, watching him yank up his breeches and belt his sword and scabbard to his hip.  He looks positively debauched—flushed and dewy, hair askew, cock soft against his thigh, and Harry just wants to ruin him all over again.  But he’s tempted fate enough this morning as is, so he only allows himself a peck to the side of Niall’s mouth, successfully weaving away from the man’s attempt to deepen it.

“ _Late._ ”

“Fine,” Niall huffs, dropping flat onto the bed, waving a dramatic hand in the air, “Leave me, peasant!”

Harry barks out a chuckle, swooping back in to nip sharply at Niall’s chin, hand wandering down to squeeze at Niall’s cock before dancing out of the reach of his claws.

“As you wish, _Your Highness_.”

 

\---

 

“STYLES!”

Harry’s skidding into his place in line as his Commander stalks toward him, unsheathing his sword in just the nick of time.  The metallic schlick of blade against blade echoes through the courtyard as his sword meets Benjamin’s.   

“Reflexes getting a bit slow in your old age, sir?”  Harry taunts, grinning with the sharps of his teeth, using his blade to force the Commander backward into the center of the courtyard.  The man is on him in a second, sword barely missing Harry’s flank before he manages to duck away. 

“In line, Pup, before you get what’s coming to you.”

Benjamin’s tone is sharp, but his eyes contradict his severity as Harry takes his place.

Liam elbows him from his place on his left. 

“Out late again with your _lover_?” he taunts quietly as Ben begins doling out assignments. 

“Perhaps,” Harry sniffs, “And don’t say lover.  It’s crude.”

Liam snorts in reply, “And I’m sure your _activities_ last night weren’t crude in the slightest.”

Harry snickers lowly.

“I’ll have you know, last night was a beautiful expression of love between two consenting adults—“

“Harry, please—“

“Now, _this morning_ , on the other hand…”

Liam whips around at that, guffaws, “Styles, you dog—“

“PAYNE!”

Liam gulps and returns to attention, ever the teacher’s pet.

“SIR!”

Ben swoops in front of the pair, most of the Guard having ferretted off to their day’s position.  He eyes the two, and Harry feels his jaw twitch in an effort not to laugh.

“In light of Styles’ lateness and your need to gossip like a couple of courtesans this morning, the two of you can stand at court today.”

Liam visibly deflates,

“But sir—“

The Commander’s eyebrows raise, losing the bulk of his earlier playfulness. 

“Perhaps you’d like to make it a _permanent_ position?”

Liam’s jaw snaps shut.  Harry barely manages to keep a chuckle from escaping.  Has to keep his eyes straight ahead to keep from losing it totally.

“No, sir.”

His eyes slide to Harry.  Another eyebrow raise.

Harry clears his throat,

“It is an honor to serve the Crown.”

The Commander shakes his head.

“You’ll do well to remember it.  The both of you are dismissed.”

Liam’s face looks like a disgruntled pup.  Harry’s cackling laugh can be heard clear across the courtyard.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea I've played around with for a while.  
> sassy-southern-mess on tumblr.  
> Come talk to me about it.


End file.
